This is a one-shot written to cheer someone up, and that someone happens to be an Anders fan. It's short, but I've always loved the Anders romance in Act 2. I may put other one-shots that don't go in the "Sane Mage" AU with this one, I'm not sure. Some day I may also flesh out this Hawke - far different from Lise - and write about her and her apostate beloved. Who knows?
Hawke watched Viscount Dumar cradle his son's body with a sick feeling in her stomach. What good am I if I'm always going to be one step behind? There was a dull headache pulsing behind her eyes, but when she moved to touch her forehead she realized she was still holding her two-hander. She sighed and sheathed it, realizing that at the moment it probably wasn't the most comforting sight to those scattered around the Chantry.
Dumar raised his head. "Serah Hawke?"
She nodded, going to one knee beside him. "My lord?"
He sighed, looking as if the past twenty-four hours had aged him at least fifteen years. "I know you did what you could; thank you. Was the one who did this brought to justice?"
Of a sort. "Yes, my lord."
"Thank you. Will you leave me, now?"
She stood, bowing low, and gave a nod to Varric and Anders. They followed her outside; she stopped when the slanting rays of the setting sun touched her face, tilting her head back with a sigh as she closed her eyes. "Another job done, for better or for worse. Let's get back to the manor."
"Sorry, Hawke. Got a family dinner to go to – I avoid them when I can but they get grumpy if I don't make an appearance every month or two."
Hawke nodded. "See you later, then, Varric."
Back at the estate, she paced in front of the fire while Anders leaned against the doorway, watching unhappily. He wasn't used to seeing her like this – she was always so assertive, almost fierce. As she was now – disheveled, with her fine, dark hair still dusty from the qunari compound that morning, looking unhappy, and worse still, unsure – he didn't know what to do.
After a few minutes, she stopped, sighed, and rubbed her forehead. "I'm going to go have a bath – wash off some of this blood and dirt." She raised her voice. "Orana?"
The elf looked out from the kitchen, a blot of flour on her nose. "Messere?"
"Oh, are you busy?"
"No, messere. I just put a pie in the oven, but I'm free now. Would you like me to run you a bath?"
"Please? That would be wonderful." She gave Anders a look that said please don't leave me alone right now - which made his heart squeeze - and he nodded. "I'll be here, Hawke. Go relax." She nodded, her shoulders losing the slightest bit of tension, and after dropping her chainmail gloves on the foyer bench, went upstairs.
While she was gone, he went to the study and brought down the bottle of brandy she'd gotten at Midwinter and poured two glasses, setting them by the fire so that the liquor could warm. Sitting down on the divan, he sighed. Days like this made it harder not to just reach out and hold her, but he knew that wouldn't be smart, even if she didn't take his hand off.
What if she feels the same way? He shook his head, and his other internal voice – the one he frequently got annoyed with because it was so damn practical, said it doesn't matter. She's a distraction, and we can't have distractions. He sighed, stood, and took a drink of brandy, ignoring them both. Right now, he didn't care about distractions or anything else – he loved her too much, and was too afraid he'd hurt her.
He was still standing, staring into the study fire when she walked in, toweling her hair. His mouth grew suddenly dry when he realized she was barefoot and in her house robe - Maker, those curves – and instead of saying anything he handed her the glass he'd poured earlier.
She sighed and took it, gratefully. "Thank you. When I came out and you weren't in the foyer, I thought you'd gone home."
He shook his head. "Not when you're like this, Hawke. Do you want to talk about it?"
She crossed her arms, the brandy in one hand, and stood next to him, staring into the fire as well. She smells like amber flitted indistinctly through his mind.
"It's just everything these days. I failed with Varric's brother, and those escaped mages – you know, the ones that had turned to blood magic? I couldn't get Merrill to give up that damn mirror, I almost made Feynriel tranquil, and I still miss Bethany. Dammit, I miss her. And now, Seamus."
He frowned. "None of that was your fault, Hawke. Every time, you've done all you could. Even with Bethany – she's a Grey Warden, but at least she's alive. She doesn't have to run from the Circle anymore."
She sighed. "I guess you're right, but that doesn't make it any better. I still failed."
"No, Hawke. If anyone's been to blame in all this, it was the Chantry and Meredith. Not with Bartrand or Merrill – but if the templars weren't so damned tyrannical then maybe people would have half a chance! Take Seamus today – I swear that Elthina had to know something about what Petrice was planning, but she just stood back and 'left it to the Maker's hands!' If we leave it to her to mediate between-"
Hawke closed her eyes, wincing, as he continued. She agreed with Anders on almost every subject, but they still had their disagreements on occasion, and she didn't want that tonight. Not tonight, when she felt like this. She loved his passion – it was one of the things that attracted her to him – but right now it was painful on her raw nerves.
Anders looked down, noticing her silence, and saw a tear slowly leak from underneath her lashes. He stopped abruptly. "Hawke? Maker, what's wrong?"
She shook her head, trying not to cry. "I don't want a debate tonight, Anders. You know I agree with you, but I don't want to think about the Chantry. I don't want to think about Meredith and Elthina."
He slowly put one hand on her shoulder and angled her face up towards his with the other. "I'm sorry. You know I get carried away sometimes – and I don't need to preach at you, my strongest supporter. What can I do, then? What can I do to make you smile tonight?"
The look in her eyes made his own widen. "I'm here, with the man I love - just be here with me. Give me a little of your fire and strength."
He took a deep breath. "How can I give you strength? You're the strongest person I know."
She shook her head. "I'm only strong so I can protect you, Anders. To protect everyone I care about, but that's you, first and foremost."
Gently tracing her jaw with his thumb, he shook his head. "Hawke, you know what I am. I'm a rebel mage, an apostate. I'm hunted by the Chantry, the templars, even the guard. You saw how I almost lost control of Justice – I'm an abomination."
Her small cry of refusal as she shook her head made his heart skip. "You're not an abomination, Anders! Justice is part of you. He's part of who you are, and part of why I love you."
Maker help me, I can't resist her. He moved his hand to cup her chin and leaned over to kiss her, a kiss of fire and light that he'd been aching for since she'd walked into his clinic three years ago with such a level of self-confidence that it took his breath away. She tasted of cinnamon and brandy, and he knew then that unless she walked away from him, he could never let her go. He'd drown the world in fire and blood to keep her safe. This isn't good came from somewhere in the back of his mind, but he banished it. Justice no longer had a say in how Anders felt about Hawke.
He pulled back after a while, and trying to steady his breathing, rested his forehead against hers. He gave a small, short laugh. "I'm terrified, Hawke. I've never before had anything that I couldn't stand to lose – no mage I've known has ever dared to fall in love. But…" he kissed her eyelid, her jaw, then her ear, and whispered, "this is the rule I shall most cherish breaking."
She shuddered, clinging to him; her lips sought his and her fierce kiss took his breath away. Pulling back, she whispered, "Don't leave me again, Anders. Ever. Stay with me forever, be it here or in the beyond."
He closed his eyes, wrapping her in an unshakeable embrace. "Forever, Hawke. I swear it."
All characters belong to Bioware. I just play with them.